Home for Chirappu
T RENT SHIFTED in his seat as the plane taxied toward the Kochi airport. Nik insisted he could use the British names rather than learning the Indian ones, but Trent already stood out like a sore thumb with his blond hair, blue eyes, and winter-white skin. He couldn’t even claim the honey-gold color he managed in the summer at this point in the year. Every flight attendant since they left Chicago had assumed he would want the non-Indian food option and plain tea or a soft drink instead of the Indian dinner and masala tea. He’d taken great pleasure in overturning those assumptions, but it would only get worse. He’d met Nik’s parents, Shankar and Leelavati, when they came to Chicago six months ago, but this time, it wouldn’t just be them. It would be all of Nik’s very large, very Indian family.
“Relax,” Nik murmured. “It’ll be fine. They’ll all love you as much as I do.”
“I hope so.”
Nik squeezed his hand in reassurance, but Trent wasn’t convinced. Nik said it a little too forcefully, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Trent.
The plane rolled to a stop and they made their way out through the jet bridge. Nik walked beside him, but he didn’t reach for Trent’s hand the way he would have at home, reminding Trent how much less accepted their relationship would be here. They weren’t in Chicago anymore.
Even in the air-conditioned jet bridge, the heat stole Trent’s breath for a second as they left the plane.
“Quite a change from three feet of snow,” he said to Nik.
“For sure,” Nik said. “No white Christmas here, I’m afraid.”
They gathered their bags and went outside to look for Nik’s family. Sweat beaded under Trent’s arms and down his back. Within seconds his shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin, leaving him feeling even dirtier than nearly thirty hours of travel had done. He pulled at his collar, trying to let some air in, but he couldn’t even feel a breeze. The scent of jasmine and spices filled the air, almost cloying in its sweetness. Beggars lined the street outside the airport, but Nik waved them away imperiously. Nik had warned him not to so much as look their way or they’d be swamped and would never make it to the car.
“Remember,” Nik said softly at his side, placing his palms together prayer style. Trent nodded at the reminder of the appropriate way to greet any senior family member. Nik’s father hadn’t said who would be there to pick them up from the airport.
“Nikhilesh chettan !”
Nik waved at a young man who couldn’t have been more than twenty. “Amma sent my cousin Abilash. That’s a good sign.”
“How’s that?” Trent tried to visualize the family tree Nik had given him to place Abilash on it, but Nik’s parents had too many siblings to keep track of, even without their children.
“It means Abilash’s father is still talking to us,” Nik said. “He’s my father’s oldest brother. After my grandfather, he has the most sway on family opinion.”
Right. Trent remembered that part of the family tree, just not the cousins’ names.
Abilash joined them with a spate of Malayalam. Trent pasted on a smile despite not understanding a word.
“English, Abilash,” Nik scolded. “Trent doesn’t speak Malayalam.”
“Sorry,” Abilash said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Abilash had a strong accent, stronger even than Nik’s father, but Trent had no trouble understanding him. “No worries,” he said. The last thing he wanted was to make things tense with Nik’s family because of language issues. Nik had promised everyone except his grandmothers would speak English, but apparently being able to speak English didn’t mean his cousins would default to English.
“So where are you taking us?” Nik asked Abilash. “I’m not sure we’re up for another hour and a half drive after traveling for almost thirty hours to get here.”
“Everyone is going to Alappuzha tomorrow,” Abilash said.
T RENT SHIFTED in his seat as the plane taxied toward the Kochi airport. Nik insisted he could use the British names rather than learning the Indian ones, but Trent already stood out like a sore thumb with his blond hair, blue eyes, and winter-white skin. He couldn’t even claim the honey-gold color he managed in the summer at this point in the year. Every flight attendant since they left Chicago had assumed he would want the non-Indian food option and plain tea or a soft drink instead of the Indian dinner and masala tea. He’d taken great pleasure in overturning those assumptions, but it would only get worse. He’d met Nik’s parents, Shankar and Leelavati, when they came to Chicago six months ago, but this time, it wouldn’t just be them. It would be all of Nik’s very large, very Indian family.
“Relax,” Nik murmured. “It’ll be fine. They’ll all love you as much as I do.”
“I hope so.”
Nik squeezed his hand in reassurance, but Trent wasn’t convinced. Nik said it a little too forcefully, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Trent.
The plane rolled to a stop and they made their way out through the jet bridge. Nik walked beside him, but he didn’t reach for Trent’s hand the way he would have at home, reminding Trent how much less accepted their relationship would be here. They weren’t in Chicago anymore.
Even in the air-conditioned jet bridge, the heat stole Trent’s breath for a second as they left the plane.
“Quite a change from three feet of snow,” he said to Nik.
“For sure,” Nik said. “No white Christmas here, I’m afraid.”
They gathered their bags and went outside to look for Nik’s family. Sweat beaded under Trent’s arms and down his back. Within seconds his shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin, leaving him feeling even dirtier than nearly thirty hours of travel had done. He pulled at his collar, trying to let some air in, but he couldn’t even feel a breeze. The scent of jasmine and spices filled the air, almost cloying in its sweetness. Beggars lined the street outside the airport, but Nik waved them away imperiously. Nik had warned him not to so much as look their way or they’d be swamped and would never make it to the car.
“Remember,” Nik said softly at his side, placing his palms together prayer style. Trent nodded at the reminder of the appropriate way to greet any senior family member. Nik’s father hadn’t said who would be there to pick them up from the airport.
“Nikhilesh chettan !”
Nik waved at a young man who couldn’t have been more than twenty. “Amma sent my cousin Abilash. That’s a good sign.”
“How’s that?” Trent tried to visualize the family tree Nik had given him to place Abilash on it, but Nik’s parents had too many siblings to keep track of, even without their children.
“It means Abilash’s father is still talking to us,” Nik said. “He’s my father’s oldest brother. After my grandfather, he has the most sway on family opinion.”
Right. Trent remembered that part of the family tree, just not the cousins’ names.
Abilash joined them with a spate of Malayalam. Trent pasted on a smile despite not understanding a word.
“English, Abilash,” Nik scolded. “Trent doesn’t speak Malayalam.”
“Sorry,” Abilash said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Abilash had a strong accent, stronger even than Nik’s father, but Trent had no trouble understanding him. “No worries,” he said. The last thing he wanted was to make things tense with Nik’s family because of language issues. Nik had promised everyone except his grandmothers would speak English, but apparently being able to speak English didn’t mean his cousins would default to English.
“So where are you taking us?” Nik asked Abilash. “I’m not sure we’re up for another hour and a half drive after traveling for almost thirty hours to get here.”
“Everyone is going to Alappuzha tomorrow,” Abilash said.
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